4
The house before Lou was small. A bare porch sat under a ribbed, vaulted pergola. The door was capped in a pointed arch like something out of an old cathedral, and the central brass knocker was a weathered ring with a stoic-looking lion’s head providing weight. Lou pulled the lion's head back and knocked. It wasn’t too late to disturb anyone, and while the deed showed this as his property, he didn’t want to assume too much. The courier who had delivered it to him had also recommended a lawyer in case there was a tenant or squatter at the residence. Lou had ignored that advice, figuring that any agreement that needed to be made could be made ex post facto. While he waited for a response he shuffled slightly, taking a peek up and down the street to examine his new neighbors.
When more than a few silent moments had passed he tried the door handle, finding that the oiled brass knob turned as expected, and the door pulled open on silent hinges. The first thing that struck Lou was the smell- something like freshly oiled metal, only somehow sweeter. He heard something like water running, maybe sloshing through a pipe, and to his surprise, the inside of the house was lit with incandescent bulbs. The entryway was clear and there was no response to the door opening so he stepped in and closed the door behind him. Everything was clean and well-maintained, clearly, someone had been keeping up with appearances. He began walking through the house, checking doors into a bedroom, an office, and a hall closet. The bedroom held the only promising clues as to who was living there- a pair of spectacles, one drawer of a dresser filled with a few socks, a couple of shirts, and one pair of woolen pants. He realized that in this room, the naphthene smell was strongest, though it wasn’t coming from any of the clothes. As he searched for a source, he felt the floor give slightly under a rug. Lou pulled back the rug to find a trapdoor and with a shock he realized there must be a basement to this house. Lou pressed his ear to the floorboard and listened, the sound of water sloshing- no, bubbling?- growing louder as he closed his eyes to focus.
5
Afton re-counted his saved money. It was his belief, one imparted to him by his father, that a man could cover up for many mistakes with a large enough pile of cash. By his estimation, five-thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars could cover a multitude of mistakes. He sat on the edge of his bed and stretched his arms overhead. The mistakes of his past were not likely to catch up to him, so the cash had plenty of mileage, and Afton intended to stretch it as long as he could. As he rolled out his shoulders, he saw it again in his mind's eye- the sudden eruption of fire into the figure of a bear. He could feel, deep in his brain, that he knew he should be afraid of the thing, and yet he could not help but admire it.
For Afton, the image of the fiery bear lingered in his mind like a ghost, haunting him even as he tried to focus on the present. He knew that he had to keep moving forward, and that meant taking some risks. With his newfound fortune, he could afford to be bolder than he had ever been before. That was what his years of gambling had taught him- once you get in a comfortable position you can take risks. The mistake of all bad gamblers was taking risks out of position. Everyone had a very romantic notion of gambling, he had found, where the little guy somehow fought the odds and took their meager pittance against their opponent on some long-odds wager that struck them rich and humbled the other guy.
Everyone, in his experience, was wrong. The best gamblers bluffed and took risks proportionately to their position. The only long-term winners in gambling are The House and the Grave. Afton stood up from his bed and looked out the window. The sun had started to set, casting an orange glow across the horizon. He knew that he couldn't keep living the way he had been for much longer. The notion of a normal life had left his mind years ago, back when he still thought of his sins as small enough to cover. Now... now his mistakes were so far from him that he wasn't even sure he'd recognize them.
He looked back at the satchel under the floorboard, the one that held all of his money. It was his security blanket, his ticket to a better life– but it also bound him to this place for now like gilded handcuffs. He couldn't let it consume him. There was a pull between the life of a working-man gambler and someone who could simply settle down and never have to speak to another human soul. The more he gambled the better he got, and the more money he made which brought him closer to his retirement. That idea scared him.
Suddenly, the image of the fiery bear flashed in his mind again. He felt a surge of adrenaline and excitement. Maybe he didn't have to settle down just yet.